


Look Who's Holding All the Aces

by LadyStrangeandUnusual (Dream_Wreaver)



Category: Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Betting with Sexual Favors, Celebration Fic, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Musicalbabes, Poker, Strip Poker, beetlebabes, bit of dubcon, maybe? - Freeform, tagging to be safe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:42:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23317807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_Wreaver/pseuds/LadyStrangeandUnusual
Summary: The problem with betting is that someone has to lose. That is also what makes it so much fun. AKA Lydia should know better than to be overconfident around a demon who's known for cheating the game.
Relationships: Beetlejuice/Lydia Deetz
Comments: 5
Kudos: 129





	Look Who's Holding All the Aces

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AngelQueen13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelQueen13/gifts).



> Dedicated to my very good friend to celebrate her epic win. Love you Angel, hope you enjoy!

Beetlejuice smiled sinisterly as he took in the sight before him. He may have been invisible for a long, long time, but he’d picked up a thing or two in his isolation on earth. The Maitlands hadn’t been the first newly deads he’d had to deal with, it was just rare for him to care enough to track down every single dead person and try and get them to get his name said by living counterparts. Besides, not all ghosts moved on, some were rule breakers, like him. The prisons had been fun, lots of violent psychopaths, and their murder victims, all in one place. The name of the game had been stab poker, but he’d learned through plenty of observation there were other variations of the game, hence the situation he was in right now.

Lydia should have learned the first time around never to let herself get overconfident around Beetlejuice. The man was a con, a liar, and a cheat. And whatever he did, he only did for his own personal gain. That was how she’d ended up married to him, thanks to torture, extortion, blackmail, and lies. And yet, somehow it came across that he could be beaten every single time. That he was an easy mark, and victory was always in their grasp. It had started with a simple statement of challenge, not even a challenge. They’d been stuck in the house due to extenuating circumstances, and they’d already made their way through Lydia’s extensive horror collection, and several board games, emphasis on bored. Even throwing in humiliating wagers and bets hadn’t helped. Namely because bored games were for children, and Lydia had no qualms about eating a bug -though she’d really rather not- if it meant seeing the smug look wiped off Beetlejuice’s face. But somehow it had moved from benign gross out bets to something more… salacious. It had started when he asked her if she’d ever played poker.

“Please,” Lydia had scoffed, “I’m the biggest card shark in my family!” she’d boasted.

“Are ya now?” Beetlejuice raised a brow at her, “Ya sure about that?”

“Are you sure you wanna piss off your wife by saying stupid stuff?” Lydia raised a brow back at him. The reference to herself as his wife was mostly a joke between the two of them. Beetlejuice took great pleasure in referring to her as his wife, namely to rub it into the faces of Charles and the Maitlands. And sometimes Lydia indulged him in it just because it was funny to see the veins in her father’s forehead and neck pop out in agitation. Besides, according to Netherworld law, their marriage was still valid, so it wasn’t as though either of them were being dishonest about it.

“Just wanna make sure you can put yer money where yer mouth is,” Beetlejuice teased back, “How about a round or two then?”

Lydia still wasn’t convinced. She liked to think that after the last time, she knew Beetlejuice well enough not to fall for any of his tricks, “What’s the stakes?” she asked him.

“Why do there need to be?” Beetlejuice asked her in reply, pulling a deck of horror themed cards out of nowhere and making a magical shuffle of them with a flourish, holding out the black backed deck out to her, “So babes… wanna play?”

There was something nostalgic about hearing the shuffle of the cards. The sounds associated with happiness, and childish naivete. Of nights spent betting gummy bears and chocolate coins, of being told the right way to bluff, and the right way to cheat. Her father believed in honest gameplay, her mother had believed in winning. Her mother had also been incredibly competitive, and her little clone had inherited that exact same nature. But, Beetlejuice had made sure she was no fool.

“Oh Beetlejuice,” she shook her head, “Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice,” and here a smirk curled at the corner of her lips, “Nice try, but I’m not falling for that,”

“Don’t tell me yer scared Lyds,” he cajoled, tossing the cards from hand to hand, “Scared o’ losin’ that is.”

“I’m not scared of anything,” Lydia set her mouth in a hard line, hands on her hips for a moment before plopping down to the floor, “Deal me in you damn demon,”

The corner of his mouth crooked, showing off sharp canines, “Call,” he said.

Lydia looked around, “I don’t have anything to call with,” she told him, “Besides, you said there were no stakes,”

“Did I?” he asked, still shuffling the deck, “I don’t recall,”

“Lying bastard,” Lydia sighed, “Alright, I bet one week of wearing a dress Delia’s picked out for me.”

“I see your bet and raise taking a bath,” Beetlejuice replied, looking at his cards before flicking his gaze to her. Lydia was gauging his body language and then looked at her cards, she had a pair, but he could be bluffing. Come on, where was the tell? Wait, there.

“I’m ready when you are Beej,” Lydia said sweetly. They put down their cards and sure enough, he had shit for a hand. Bluffer.

A few more hands, a few more benign bets, and just about every time he lost. The only times he didn’t, were when she had nothing and he had a pair of twos. And again, more benign punishments, less punishments for him if he did lose, and barely registering as something humiliating to her. But after several rounds, Beetlejuice decided to change up the game,

“Alright, you’re better than you look,” he admitted, “So how’s about we make this a little more interesting?”

“Really?” Lydia asked him, taking her turn shuffling the deck and dealing out the cards, “You’ve barely won any hands, and you wanna make this more interesting? How much of a masochist are you?”

“I’m not a masochist,” he informed her, “I’m an exhibitionist, and it sounds like _you_ are chickenshit,”

“Am not!” Lydia argued.

“Are too!”

“Oh yeah?” Lydia glared at him, “Call then,”

“Alright,” Beetlejuice grinned at her, “I bet my jacket,”

And that was how they’d ended up here. With him having lost only his jacket and tie, and meanwhile Lydia was down to her underwear. She could only thank gods she’d been allowed to wager her little glovelettes, or else this could have gone real bad, much faster. Not that things were really that great now. She was in nothing more than a bra and a thong, why of all days she’d chosen to wear that particular undergarment she had no idea, but it meant she had to sit very very carefully. And now, Lydia wondered how she’d let herself fall for it. When she’d lost a hand or two, it seemed like it was just the luck of the cards. She could count them if she wanted to, she’d been dealing too. There was no way he could have been messing with them, Lydia had been watching his hands the whole time.

And yet, the luck was just too reversed to be coincidental. He’d barely lost anything, nothing except when he wagered small potatoes. He was still mostly dressed, and here she was practically naked. At least it wasn’t freezing in her room, she did not need teasing from him about being ‘happy to see him’. Fucking pervert. He was probably enjoying this. No wait, he was definitely enjoying this. He had to be. Here he was in a room with her mostly naked, and him an insatiable horndog. Except… he wasn’t looking at her, not beyond betting and collecting, the pile of her forfeited clothing in a heap to his side. Lydia glared at him, staring hard as he studied his cards for this round. He put down two, and drew again, this time his tell was the twitch of his mouth. Whatever he had had to be shit,

‘I’ll call, my shirt,” he said, undoing a button at the top.

Lydia looked at her own cards, pretty good, “I’ll see your shirt, and raise…” she bit her lip, what was less important to keep, “My bra,”

“Alright then,” Beetlejuice said, laying out his cards on the floor between them. Shit, he had a flush. A fucking flush. But what could she have done? Fold? She would have had to take it off either way.

Letting out a sigh Lydia reached behind her and flicked at the clasp, undoing it and letting it fall free. There was the momentary relief of the tension around her torso being gone, fleeting as she started sliding the straps down her shoulders. And of course, the removal of something kept that close to her body meant that the peaks of her breasts hardened when exposed to the comparatively cooler air. Aka, the situation she’d been trying to _avoid_ _in the first place_. With a scowl, she tossed them to the demon, catching it by a strap and swinging it around on his finger before tossing it to the side to join the pile. At some point he’d started smoking, and he took a drag on the cigarette, exhaling on a low whistle as he took in her appearance,

“Gotta say Lyds,” he remarked as he took another drag, “You got one helluva rack hidden under those clothes of yers,”

“...Thank you?” Lydia hesitantly replied. She knew that coming from him it was a sincere compliment. She just didn’t know how she was supposed to feel about it. Should she be angered, flattered, disappointed but not really surprised? Beetlejuice was an incorrigible horndog at the best of times. Naturally he’d see a set of tits and find them attractive. And yet… it _was_ flattering, a sense of heady power that she was seen by a man, a man old and experienced, and deemed attractive. It really wasn’t so bad, being topless in front of him. After all, men got to be topless around women all the time, so really what was the big deal?

Lydia rolled her shoulders back, working out the kinks from having worn the undergarment. It wasn’t until she saw Beetlejuice’s eyes locked on her chest that she remembered the motion had thrust them out further than they normally went. In the afternoon sunlight that filtered in through her windows, his eyes seemed to reflect, golden and reptilian. But there was a dark possessive fire in them she normally only caught glimpses of. Slowly his hand moved, taking a drag of his cigarette and blowing out smoke. Had he gotten closer? No, no he couldn’t have, but why else did she see, feel the smoke curling against her skin before vanishing into thin air? Goosebumps rose on her skin, punctuated by the acute feeling of pins and needles starting at her hip and quickly traveling down her leg. She was going to need a new seating position. Pushing off with one arm she rose and tried sitting on her knees. Sure, it would be uncomfortable, but the only other way to sit on this floor would give him full viewing access to a part of her she wasn’t sure she was ready to see. Especially since she had felt a slight dampness in the material as she’d shifted.

Sweat, it was probably just sweat, she reasoned to herself even as she ran a tongue over suddenly dry lips. It was no big deal, they were married, and given his sense of timing it was honestly amazing it had taken him this long to see her topless and mostly naked at all. Lydia heard a noise reverberating in her ears and almost asked what it was before she realized it was the sound of her heart pounding and her blood rushing. Beetlejuice hadn’t said or done anything, merely watching her try and get more comfortable with her back against the bed, sitting on her knees with them pressed tightly together. They flicked down, noticing the slightly quickened pace of her stomach, and the way it caused her breasts to move. Lydia may not have been scared of him, but she was definitely nervous right now. How cute. Ashing out his cigarette and ready to pull out another he inclined his head at her,

“Y’ever smoke?” he asked her.

“Once or twice, back in the city,” Lydia answered, “Why?”

He leaned over and grabbed her chin with one hand. She stared directly into his eyes, feeling a thumb pressing at her bottom lip. Her heart rate increased, was he… was he really gonna? Lydia felt a small cylindrical object being placed between the space she’d made. His other hand reached up with with a snap the acrid smell of tobacco filled the air once more. Lydia sucked in a breath and felt the nicotine seep into her lungs, her tongue, everything. It had been so long she almost coughed but managed not to. As she reached for the cigarette he let go and lit one of his own. A silent moment of smoking later, he held his between his fingers and started to deal,

“Your call Lydia,”

Lydia, how long had it been since he’d used her full name? She couldn’t remember. Ever since he’d come back it had always been Babes or Lyds or some other variation or nickname. Never Lydia. Her call, but what else did she have?

“You know what I’m going to say,” Lydia told him, “There’s only one thing I have left to bet with,”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t wanna hear ya say it,”

Lydia took another drag and suddenly wanted nothing to do with her cigarette. Noticing her hesitation with it he offered her a juiced up ash tray. She snubbed it out and sighed, exhaling the last of the smoke along with it, “I’ll bet,” she took a deep breath, “My underwear,”

“I’ll call, and raise you my shirt,” Beetlejuice said, discarding a card and picking up another one.

Lydia looked at her cards. Not a bad hand, but the last one hadn’t been either and she’d still lost. Well, she could just fold. No, no, she couldn’t risk it. Thin as it was, the scrap of clothing at her hips was the only barrier she had. So she laid down her cards, and let out a sigh of relief when he laid down his. She had an ace high, which meant that for the moment she’d get to keep her drawers. Beetlejuice unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it at her. Well, this was one step towards evening out the playing field. But what was the point of this again? They were staving off boredom from being under house arrest, but why keep going here? And then, she paused, she’d never seen him with his shirt off, it was strange. Strange and unusual, and was she even weirder for feeling like she liked it?

“I’m bored with strip poker,” Beetlejuice announced suddenly, snapping her out of her unconscious stupor, “Let’s play for something else,”

“Alright then, give me back my clothes,” Lydia told him, “I’m sure I have something else I can bet with,”

“Nope, not gonna,” Beetlejuice smirked at her, “Let’s play for something else, as is, or are ya chickenshit?”

“What could you possibly want to-” Lydia didn’t finish that question, afraid of what his answer might be.

“Seen this done with a couple of breathers,” he informed her, “Wanna play for kisses,”

Lydia paused, “You can’t be serious right?”

“‘M serious Lyds,” he told her, “I mean, yer already topless, what’s the big deal?”

Lydia knew there was no way she could possibly explain it to him in way where she didn’t get made fun of for it. And she was already down to nothing but a thong, it wasn’t like things could really get any weirder. Except… what if she had to kiss him? More importantly… what if she _liked_ it?

Instead, she played dumb, “I just don’t understand the point of playing for kisses Beej,” she told him, “No matter who wins or loses, we have to kiss, right?”

Beetlejuice snorted, completely not insulted by the subtext of her words, “That disgusted by the thought of kissin’ me babes?”

“I’m more confused why you would want to play for the chance to kiss me anyways,” Lydia felt a little embarrassed, “I mean, if you wanted kisses, you could have just as-” she cut herself off, what the hell was she _saying_? She didn’t want him to kiss her anyways, not even asking would have changed her mind on that.

“Not a big fan of askin’,” Beetlejuice told her, “Usually prefer to jus’ take what I want. But,” he added, “I s’pose winnin’ the right ain’t too shabby either.” when his words failed to visibly calm her down her chuckled, “Don’t worry Lyds, I’m the only one playin’ fer’em here. You win and we jus’ play another round.”

“I don’t know why you think that’s supposed to make me feel better, since our last segment of betting has left me in practically nothing while you’re just topless,”

“All part of the fun,” Beetlejuice assured her, “‘Sides, you’re not feelin’ self-conscious about it anymore, now are ya?”

“I wasn’t until you said that,” Lydia rolled her eyes, “Let’s just play,”

Somehow though, her luck had changed again. Hand after hand, five hands in a row. Lydia won, and Beetlejuice appeared to be getting more frustrated with the cards the longer it went on. That had to be a good sign though, if he was losing and was frustrated with the cards it meant he wasn’t cheating. Of course, there was an unexpected part of all this, Lydia began to get curious. His temper seemed indicative of the fact that he really wanted to kiss her. Really, _really_ , wanted to kiss her. Lydia looked at her hand, it wasn’t bad, but her discards hadn’t brought her any better cards like she’d hoped. She bit her lip, the way her luck had been going, she was probably going to win again.

“I fold,” she found herself saying, laying the cards to the side and bracing her hands against the floor, shifting so her legs didn’t go numb again.

“Really?” Beetlejuice raised a brow at her, “What shit hand did you have?”

“Don’t have to show you,” Lydia said, taking the cards and folding them back in the deck. She'd seen his cards then, and there was no way her hand would have lost against it. An ace high compared to three of a kind. But she didn't want him to know she'd folded on purpose.

“Alright then,” Beetlejuice shrugged, rugged, sticking his cards back in the deck and then setting it to the side, “Time to collect,”

He moved closer to her, cupping a cheek in his hand. Lydia’s eyes fluttered closed, though she couldn’t quite explain why. It was just a kiss. She’d kissed back in New York, it wasn’t anything special. A kiss was a kiss. And for all she knew, Beetlejuice had been purposefully baiting her, and was only going to give her a kiss on the cheek. Was she being too expectant? She felt his thumb swipe over her lower lip again, pressing ever so slightly. Her mouth dropped open just the tiniest bit. His lips were cool, the mossy scruff on his face tickled against her lips, his hands cupped her, putting all focus at the relatively benign connection of mouth on mouth. Movement, a soft sigh through the nose, the press of his tongue as he slid it into her mouth. He tasted like tobacco, and something she couldn’t name. Something dark, something oppressive, something completely seductive. By the time he pulled away to let her breathe, Lydia was just a little dazed. Good, that had been good. Too good. Slowly she caught her breath, what the hell was that? Had he always been this good at kissing? Adam and Barbara had never said so. And he’d been holding back from doing this to her? On what account? She was starting to think he maybe should have just taken what he’d wanted, if this was what he could give in return. Wait, was she actually thinking she wanted the demon she was married to to have made a move first? She must have something seriously wrong with her.

“Alright, final round,” Beetlejuice told her, bringing her attention back from wherever it had gone as he shuffled the cards some more, “Wanna up the stakes a little more?”

“Beetlejuice I’m practically naked and you’re shirtless,” Lydia reminded him, still a little breathless and internally shaken, “What stakes could possibly be higher?”

“I’ll wager you,” Beetlejuice said, folding the deck in on itself before handing it to her, “That if I win, we stop dancin’ around the elephant in the room, and finally consummate our marriage,”

Dancing around the issue, consummate their marriage. He… he had to be kidding. There was no dancing around any issue. Yes, Lydia liked him, he was her friend. Yes, she let him make remarks about their marital status, even tossed them around for his own enjoyment. Yes, they spent every waking moment they could together -even when they weren’t stuck in the house. And yes, she thought he was a good kisser. But that didn’t mean she liked him like _that_. Right?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lydia said, putting the deck to the side and standing up. She was done playing this game. Careless of the fact that she was only exposing more of herself she turned away and went for her closet. With the echo of a snap the door wouldn’t open. Fine, it was alright, she had some clothes in her dresser. But with another snap the drawers wouldn’t budge. Lydia huffed and turned back to him, “Real mature,” she jabbed, putting her hands on her hips and quite ignoring the fact that she only had on underwear in front of him.

“‘M not lettin’ you avoid this anymore babes,” he told her, “Ya felt it dontcha? Ya feel it now too. The same feeling we had back when the house was _ours_. There was magic there, an’ it had nothin’ to do with me, and everythin’ t’do with _us_.”

“Beetlejuice,” Lydia shook her head, trying to find a response and failing. So instead she said, “Give me back my clothes!”

She strode back over to him, aiming for the pile, trying to get something back to make her feel less vulnerable and exposed. But the minute she bent down she found herself with her back against the carpeting, and Beetlejuice looming over her. They way they were positioned made it hard for her to slip out from under him, the most she could do was move her arm to push at his chest. His bare chest… his bare chest with the wound from where she’d stabbed him still plainly in view. The weak shove was ineffective, but her hand lingered on his chest. Fingers sliding curling up and thumb brushing against the wound. Beetlejuice dropped his face into the curve of her neck. She was breathing, deep but shallow. Her heart was pounding, her blood was racing, her skin felt feverish against the arctic chill that was his own. Something was building in the pit of her stomach, coiled low like a sleeping serpent. Heat, sinuous and seductive, flowed like blood in her veins.

“Lydia,” Beetlejuice rasped, “You feel it don’t you?”

“N-no,” she protested weakly, “I don’t know what you mean,”

“Your mouth can lie, but yer body betrays ya,” he hissed in her ear. But where she thought he might begin to touch her, try to let her reactions bely her words, he merely hoisted himself off of her, holding out a hand to let her sit up.

Lydia suddenly felt shy, folding her arms in front of her chest as she sat there on the floor. Her heart was racing, she felt flush, overheated, and now… strangely cold. She wasn’t scared of anything, anyone. Sure, she had felt scared _for_ people, like Barbara when Beetlejuice’s machinations had caused her to be exorcised. But she hadn’t been afraid of anything or anyone, ever. It was a similar situation now, she still wasn’t afraid of Beetlejuice, no matter what he did, he would never do anything that would truly hurt her. Right?

“What do you plan to do then?” Lydia hated the way her voice quivered just the slightest amount, because she knew he’d notice, “You’re going to keep me here mostly naked until I agree to play?”

“Let me put it to you this way,” Beetlejuice leered at her a little, “What _choice_ do ya have?”

He had a point. He’d restricted access to all the rest of her clothes. She could call for help but really, did she want her father, or Delia, the _Maitlands_ to see her like this? Did she really want to have to explain she’d been goaded into strip poker with a cheat and subsequently lost almost everything she’d been wearing? Nope, no, that was definitely _not_ happening. And he wouldn’t let her reach for her clothes until she played a hand where the stakes at hand were her having sex with him. What choice _did_ she have? Stay in here like this with him? Wait, wait a minute, she had her winnings pile. Sure, his clothes might have been disgusting and foul smelling, but it was better than just staying naked. Lydia sighed,

“Alright, I’ll play,” she relented, “But first, let me put something else on, please,”

“You can only pick from yer winnin’s pile,” Beetlejuice warned her, “An’ ya can only pick one, choose wisely.”

It wasn’t as if she had much of a choice here either. She had his jacket, his shirt, and his tie. And she wanted something with a bit more coverage. His jacket it was. She slid the comparatively giant cover over her, rolling up the sleeves and waiting. It all came down to this.

Beetlejuice handed her the deck, “Your deal babes,”

Lydia took in a deep breath. The result of this, of what hand she was dealt, was going to change everything. This wasn’t a wager of clothes, it was a wager of letting Beetlejuice… she couldn’t even think it. Her hands were shaking as she shuffled the cards and dealt them out. One, two, three, four, five. She looked at her hand. Her heart stopped. A royal flush. An unbeatable hand. No way he could top that, she was safe. The ten of spades, and all the face cards, including the ace. She was safe. Giddy and overconfident, she looked at Beetlejuice.

“Ready?” she asked.

“As anything babes,”

“Then I think I win,” Lydia said as she laid down her cards, “Royal flush,”

Beetlejuice looked for a moment at the cards as she laid them down on the floor between them. Then, he looked down for a moment, and began to chuckle, “Gee babes,” he remarked, still only barely restraining his mirth, “That’s a good hand. Unbeatable, even.”

“Good,” Lydia began to get up, “Now let me have my-”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Beetlejuice stopped her, “Hate to break it to ya babes but,” and here he turned over his own, “You lose,”

“I… what?” Lydia was confused, she had a royal flush. The hand was unbeatable, “How?”

“Because,” Beetlejuice answered, pointing at his own hand, “Look who’s holding all the aces,”

And there, in a line, was five aces. No, no, this couldn’t be right. She’d never agreed to wild card rules. And even if she had, there could only be five aces in the deck at a time, and she had one of them. But a quick glance down revealed her ace was gone.

“You cheated!” she hissed at him, drawing the jacket tighter around her for what little protection it could provide.

“You expected me not to?” Beetlejuice asked, “I had a lot riding on this, and you wanted me to leave it to chance? I don’t fuckin’ think so.”

“So you admit you cheated to get what you wanted?” Lydia asked him, “That’s low, even for you.”

“You seem to forget Lydia,” he snarled at her, “I did the exact same thing the first time you left me.”

They had never addressed his actions leading up to giving her the wrong incantation. He had apologized for them, and at the time that had been enough for her. After all, he had fed his own mother to a sandworm for her. But there had never been any dissection into the motivation for his actions. It was so easy to take his words at face value in the moment, that he was tired of being alone, that he wanted to experience really living and that marrying Lydia was the only way to do so. It was so easy… until one took a closer look at the excuse and the situation. Then it all began to fall apart. And that was why Lydia never had. She’d thought about it, nights when her mind was idle and refused to fall asleep so there was nothing to do but lay awake and stare at the ceiling, thinking of anything that might help pass the time. But never too deeply, she’d refused to allow herself because facing the motivations of his actions would mean facing her own feelings in reaction to them. And Lydia hadn’t wanted to know what her own feelings for the demon were. She’d let him kiss her, it should have been enough of an indication, she felt lust, desire, for him. But lust was as common between two people who spent as much time together as they did as rain was to New England. There was nothing more to it than that, right?

“Say something Lyds,” he told her, “Where’s that quick wit and sharp tongue now? C’mon, I know you got it in ya,”

Her lip quivered and she curled into herself, pulling the jacket as tight around her as it could go. Words wouldn’t form over the intense trembling that overwrought her body. Fear, desire, what was it she was feeling? Teeth cut into her lower lip so hard she was surprised she wasn’t drawing blood. Beetlejuice was so close she could feel his breath as it wafted against her. Lydia closed her eyes, trying to be strong, trying to will the trembling to stop. Her emotions were in a frenzy, cycling through so quickly it was hard to tell which one she wanted to be feeling, which one she _should_ be feeling. Icy hands came against her arms, rubbing at them through the material of the jacket. She felt him breathing against her mouth, and she turned her face away. His hands moved, down her arms to rest atop hers as they shakily held the jacket closed. With just a bit of force, he pried them away, revealing her bared beneath it. She didn’t know why she was so nervous now, she’d lost all her clothes quite some time ago. But perhaps the difference was in knowing he was a pervert who could get off to anything and knowing he’d manipulated the game to be in this position with _her_.

“Lydia,” the rasp of her name made her open her eyes, unconsciously leaning into the hand at her cheek. He looked so somber and serious, it was almost comical, “You’re beautiful,” he told her.

When she opened her mouth to reply, it felt like he was determined to stop any protest she might have made. He kissed her, gently, as though he were trying not to break her. By the time she was able to take a breath, she was up in his arms with the jacket discarded to the floor. He placed her on the bed, and crawled over her. Lydia’s legs were clenched together, she was nervous. She may have kissed some people back in New York, may have done a bit of petting here and there, but she had never done anything like this. She shouldn’t have been nervous, they were married, this was fine. And no matter how much he’d exaggerated, he couldn’t be making up _all_ his experience.

“Babes, yer shakin’ like a leaf,” he informed her, “Y’know I ain’t gonna hurtcha, no more’n can be helped.”

“I…” Lydia knew that. She knew he wasn’t going to let her out of collecting. So why was she still shivering?

“T’s a matter babes?” Beetlejuice asked, “Ya cold?” when all she did was tremble he cocked a crooked smirk at her, “Don’ worry, I’ll getcha all warmed up.”

There was magic in his fingertips, sparking through her and trailing in tingling wakes as his hands ran along her skin. Tingling that simmered under her flesh, warming it and making her very much aware of just how cold he was in response. But it wasn’t an uncomfortable contrast, it was… actually really nice. Heat from his fingers contrasted by the chill of his lips as he trailed kisses all along her body. Shoulders, neck, mouth, stomach, breasts. Lydia groaned softly, now sure of what she was feeling. Emotions were complicated, desire was not. No matter if this ruined their friendship Lydia would let him take her, because the passion was something she couldn’t deny, even if he’d cheated his way to get it. Her hands let go of the sheets to tangle, in his hair, along his skin, anywhere she could reach and touch and feel the icy burn of. She pulled his head back up to meet hers and kissed him, he was aggressive, but she was stubborn. Bite marks appeared, all over her neck, the sound of suckling and soft moans filled the air. Beetlejuice made his way down to the cradle of her hips, still covered by that persistent little strip of fabric. A slice of his fingers left it shredded at her hips, and he made quick work of taking it away. And there it was, a little slice of heaven, all for him. At some point in the middle of their making out her roaming hands had helped him out of his pants. But as much as he wanted to just dive right in, there would really be no point if he didn’t savor the victory by making her unable to do anything without craving him. 

He lowered his face, dropping a kiss on one of her thighs. Everything about Lydia radiated heat, vitality, life. So different in comparison to his own pallid, deathly chilled form. She jumped a little, but not in surprise, no. He could smell the anticipation rolling off her in waves. Beetlejuice would take great pride and pleasure in saying he knew Lydia Deetz better than anyone else. She like to exude this tough, unaffected atmosphere, but really she was soft, delicate. She had too big a heart, even if she tried not to let it show, and she cared. But she would never admit it of her own accord, which was why a little force was perhaps necessary at the beginning. It didn’t matter, he’d broken her down and revealed to both of them what she really wanted, him. One finger delved between her legs, pressing against the seam and probing just beneath it. It came away slick, she wanted this. And he was all too happy to give it to her. Pressing her thighs wide he dove in, delivering a single swipe of his tongue up her entrance.

Lydia jerked. She honestly hadn’t expected him to do that. Nor for it to feel, as good as it did. Sure, she knew the reverse was enjoyed. But she’d never quite understood the purpose of what was being done to her until it was being done to her. Of course, it helped that her partner was a demon, and was making every use of the fact. She was certain that if she were coherent enough to do so she would probably be able to count some extra limbs on him. It certainly felt like hands were everywhere and that there were more than two of them. But as it was, the only thing she could concentrate on was the twist and glide of fingers and tongue against her clit, rubbing at her insides, and that coil of anticipation and awareness that was rising higher and higher and losing sanity with every step it took. Idly, she registered the sensation of softness beneath her hands, was she clutching at his hair? Experimentally she gave it a tug. Beetlejuice moaned in response and the sound reverberated through her entire body, causing the coil to wind tighter and tighter. Faster, fuller, filthier. She heard something, felt it more accurately, and knew he was speaking. And knowing him, it was probably something disgusting and perverted, which only made it resound even better in her body. Lydia felt hot all over, ready to break, and with one swipe of his tongue and twist of his fingers, she did.

There was nothing more satisfying than seeing a sexual partner come apart under your own hands. Unfortunately, given that his experience had been entirely with dead people at this point, that satisfaction was mostly auditory. There wasn’t anything really visceral about it. Just soft sounds and imagined satisfaction that quickly wore off. The body (for lack of a better word) wasn’t actually responding to stimulus, it was just the mind and memory remembering echoes of pleasure once felt. That was not the case with Lydia. So hot, and wet, and tight. And his, she was all his. As soon as she came to. Eyes fluttered, heavy lidded and hazy with satisfaction. She swiped a tongue over swollen lips, tits jiggling with her slow breaths.

“Ready for more?” he asked her, leering at the sight of her completely undone and disheveled. Completely debauched and he wasn’t even done with her yet.

“More,” she breathed, “ _More_ ,” and her hands were reaching for him, sliding over his shoulders as he positioned himself where his mouth had just been, “More, Beetlejuice!”

“Well then,” he told her, slipping the head in with a slight pop, “It’s showtime,”

And then he began to move, slowly at first to gauge her reactions and savor them. Then, as the friction began to build, the heat transferring from her to him as pleasure sparked between the two of them. She was nothing like he’d ever experienced before, which had been why he’d been so determined to never let her go. Lydia, all that she was, all that she had been, all that she would be, all of it belonged to him. Lydia was his, and though she’d quite literally stabbed him in the back, he wouldn’t want her any other way. He may have let her take control, been content to let her think she held the power, but if this proved anything to her, it was that he would always have the upper hand. And he would always be holding all the aces. They had been bound together, souls intertwined in a whole bunch of romantic sounding crap that was actually far darker and more sinister than anyone truly realized. But why bother thinking about that now, when he had a moaning, trembling mess of flesh to work over the edge of oblivion?

Nails gouged at his skin, a minor revenge, or it would have been had he any feeling left in his flesh. She couldn’t stop touching him, every point of contact a leap of flame, a connected circuit. Lydia for her part felt like she was losing whatever mind she had left. Was this heaven? Was this hell? Was this some unquantifiably sweet torment in between? She didn’t know. And she didn’t care. Why bother caring when one’s demonic spouse was busy trying to utterly wreck them? And succeeding, quite well in her opinion. Sure, there was some small part of her that felt that she should be the one reducing him to a needy moany mess, he’d demonstrated he was quite capable of all three more than once since she’d first made his acquaintance. But this, much like haunting, was his area of expertise. More so than hers at any rate. So all Lydia could do was lie there and take it. She undulated her hips, keeping cadence with his own as a myriad of sounds met her ears. Some the obvious, like the steady thump of her bedframe against the wall as they fucked. Some took a slightly longer listen to figure out, like the sounds of slick and wet as they moved against each other. But it took Lydia far longer than she would have thought it would to realize the low, but almost inhuman sounds she heard echoing around her were a combination of Beetlejuice, and noises breaking forth from her own mouth. A language she didn’t know, but could communicate fluently in, and one her husband seemed to be able to answer in kind. Faster, harder, though not said in those words, of syllables, or sounds, all of them heard and granted. She could feel herself rocking back and forth across the sheets with how hard and fast he was fucking her.

Lydia could feel that buildup once more, low in the pit of her stomach. Like trekking up a deserted cliff to the edge of the face, and there lay the pool of oblivion before her. Eyes closed, heart pounding, Lydia stood on the precipice, waiting. The edge was there, she could jump anytime. But something held her back, some invisible barrier that needed to be broken. She’d felt it break once before as she was shoved off and into freefall. Once, twice, third time was the charm. The ground suddenly wasn’t under her feet and Lydia felt herself hurtling into the abyss. There was one last thought of coherence that flashed through her mind’s eye as everything else seemed to explode around her, with a keening squeal she screamed out,

_“BEETLEJUICE!”_

It was quiet when she next woke. Aside from the slight ringing in her ears that spoke of being exposed to a really loud or high decibel sound. Lydia was beneath her blankets, curled up against Beetlejuice as he sat up against the headboard, smoking a cigarette and levitating a trashy gothic romance novel in front of him, flipping through the pages without actually touching them. He had on glassed, which Lydia had never expected him to own. Then again, she didn’t know he read either.

“Have a nice nap Sleepin’ Beauty?” he asked without looking at her, knowing she was awake by the change in her breathing and the way she shifted against him.

“Hmm…” Lydia mused as she struggled to a sitting position and stretched, arching her back in a manner that she would deny to her grave was to catch his attention, “Better than I have in a while,” checking out the title of whatever he’d pulled up she raised a brow at him, “Really?” she asked, now feeling slightly embarrassed, “Out of all the softcore literary porn in my collection, _that’s_ the one you picked?”

“It’s called _Devil’s Advocate_ , and is about a woman summoning a demon to be her sex slave,” Beetlejuice countered, “Is this a case of art imitating life, or life imitating art?”

“It’s a case of, if you don’t put that damn book away this is never happening again,” Lydia groused at him, plucking the book from the air and tossing it back across the room.

Beetlejuice scoffed and snorted at her declaration, “Pfft, says you,” he told her, “You really think I’m gonna letcha keep yourself from me now that I’ve had ya?”

“No,” Lydia said with a bemused sigh, snuggling up and fingering the wound she’d left him on their wedding day, “But I can at least tell them I tried, right?”

“You can tell them whatever you like baby,” he cuddled her closer, “Whatever they wanna hear. But you and I both know, I’ll always have the better hand,”

“After what I experienced?” Lydia giggled, placing a kiss on his cheek, “You’re certainly the most… handy man I’ve ever known,”

“Care to discuss your experience?” Beetlejuice asked her, “Heard ya get a discount for the next time ya go.”

“Oh Beetlejuice,” Lydia sighed, unable to help herself. Sure, it was corny, and cheesy, but somehow that made it funnier to her, “You were _aces_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought. Thanks for reading and until next time Netherlings!


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